


Not Your Mum

by skies_of_blue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-17
Updated: 2005-10-17
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skies_of_blue/pseuds/skies_of_blue
Summary: Ron tries to drown his sorrows at The Three Broomsticks.





	Not Your Mum

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Notes: This is for the March Kink Challenge, and is my first NC-17 smutfic. Thank you to shocolate for the look-over, and to the Lexicon, which told me sparkly turquoise high heels and a mirror over the bar are canon! How could I resist material like that?

 

 

With a flick of her wrist, Madam Rosmerta topped off yet another mulled mead. The young man seated at the bar might be drunk after six pints, but he was silent, so she didn’t mind serving just one more. Only two patrons lingered this evening; One-Eyed Willy, who enjoyed talking to his chips, was a regular, but this tall one with the flaming red hair was only vaguely familiar. He hadn’t spoken much, other than placing his orders in a soft voice. He had appealing blue eyes that followed her as she moved when he thought she wasn’t watching. She couldn’t help adding a bit of a sway to her steps as she went about her work. 

Rosmerta winked at old Willy as she made her way along the bar towards the young man, who now seemed to be studying his reflection in the mirror over the bar. When she set the pint before him, he jumped a bit and widened his eyes at her for a moment before flushing. 

 

“Now Red, you wouldn’t be falling asleep on my freshly polished bar, would you?” she teased as she collected empty mugs that were still damp with condensation. 

 

He looked up from his drink with a rueful smile. “Nah, I couldn’t do that with all the witty conversation taking place over there.” He motioned with those blue eyes over to Willy, who seemed to be debating politics with his chips. 

 

Ah. A half dozen drinks and Red finally parts those lips, she thought. She allowed her eyes to trail down the slope of his neck, from a freckled cheek to a hint of collarbone that peaked out of his partially unbuttoned shirt with its sloppily knotted gold and scarlet tie. A Hogwarts student, then, but one who’s name escaped her. 

 

She pulled a cloth from under the bar and charmed it to wipe the surface clean of water rings. “There are not too many students willing to visit the village after all that You-Know-Who business.”

 

He nodded and lifted an elbow so the cloth could work its way past. “It’s because of him that I needed to get out.”

 

“Hmmm.” Rosmerta moved to check on her regular, glancing back at Red’s contemplative expression. It certainly was an odd face to see on someone his age. The young man’s posture resembled something she had only seen with battle-weary wizards and witches who had recently assisted Harry Potter fight You-Know-Who.

 

She emerged from behind the bar to collect empty mugs and bottles that littered the pub tables. He was watching her again, blue eyes under ginger lashes, and something finally clicked. “You’re a friend of Harry Potter? You and a bushy haired girl, right?”

 

He gulped down part of his drink. She watched with interest as his tongue slipped between his lips to catch every last drop. “Yeah, Harry’s my best mate, though he doesn’t talk to me much right now.” His eyes gained a slightly haunted appearance as he spoke. “But I will be there for him when he does need my help, as long as that takes. Even if he did kill Vo..Vol..Voldemort, he’s not a murderer, no matter what he thinks,” he added in a sharper tone.

 

No wonder this young man seemed much older. He might betray his youth with the hastily rolled-up sleeves of his white Oxford, but he had most likely dealt with things many Wizards would never face in their lives. There was just something about him, something noble in his quickness to defend his friend. Rosmerta felt moved by his words and paused near his barstool. “He’s lucky he has a friend like you,” she said softly, touching his shoulder in a gesture of sympathy. 

 

He sucked in a deep breath when her fingers accidentally brushed against his neck. She pulled her hand back, amused that he kept darting glances towards her chest. It was always a bit comforting to know that she could still pull a young man’s gaze. 

 

“Yeah, …er...well, I hope he thinks so.” He coughed nervously, his voice wavering just a bit as his eyes kept misbehaving. “I just hope he knows he has two friends willing to do anything to help.”

 

Rosmerta felt her lips curl into a smile. She took a few steps away from Red to dump the tray full of dirty glassware into a wash bin. “Has your other friend had any success in comforting him?” Her back faced him, but she caught his blush in the mirror reflection. 

 

“She’s… tried, but he’s not talking to anyone. I know it’s bothering her too. She’s been knitting a scarf for days, and now I think the only person it would fit is Hagrid. Or maybe the giant squid.” He tagged on a forced chuckle at the end and paused for a moment. “I don’t like seeing her this upset. It seems I’m rubbish at helping her as well. I guess I just feel useless.”

 

His head was bowed, and his shaggy hair curled just enough at the ends to hide his features. He was running a long fingertip around the lip of his mug in slow circles, his bicep flexing with the movement. Rosmerta’s eyes were drawn to the slow stroking. Mesmerized, she wondered what those same strokes might feel like against the flesh of her inner thighs, slowly trailing up to… She shook her head in a futile attempt to dislodge any lecherous thoughts. This was an 18 year old boy in pain, and here she was, wondering if he had ever used those slender fingers to touch women intimately.

 

Rosmerta wanted to comfort him, and she knew fully well that it wasn’t out of motherly concern.

 

Willy was still a few stools over, now mumbling about Death Eaters hogging the best produce at the market. She glanced over to check if his drink needed refreshing, and then back over at Red. He had been watching her again, and this time, when he quickly looked away, she noticed how the flush had crept to the tips of his ears. Hmm. It wouldn’t hurt to toy a bit, she finally decided. Besides, what young man didn’t like his ego stroked by a voluptuous woman, she thought wryly.

 

She walked around the bar towards him, her body all fluid movement and tingling with the kind of excitement that only naughtiness could sire. This was her pub and therefore her playground; why couldn’t she play once in a while? 

 

She sat on the stool next to Red, making sure just to show just a flash of upper thigh as she crossed her legs. His eyes darted to the revealed skin predictably, and then he looked back at her, surprised and curious. A woman could really get lost in eyes like his, so deep and soul-bearing. That penetrating gaze, packaged with his height, red locks, broad shoulders sloping to muscled arms, long fingers, and softly curving lips, was a heart fluttering combination. Coupled with a sprinkling of freckles and the velvet tenor of his voice…yes, when Red actually learned how to use his assets, it would be hard for any woman to resist.

 

“You’re a Weasley, right? You have that look about you.” 

 

He laughed at that, a bit self consciously, and met her eyes with a trace of shyness. “It’s rather obvious, isn’t it? Horrible red hair, freckles everywhere… I might as well wear ‘Weasley’ tattooed across my forehead.”

 

She reached out and trailed a finger down the curve of his forearm, lightly smoothing a faded scar on the skin from inside his elbow to his wrist. “I think you are being too hard on yourself. Red hair hints at a bit of mischievousness. It can be very alluring.” 

 

He licked his lips again watched as her finger followed a crease on his palm. “Oh, er, that’s good to know,” he replied, his voice a bit breathless. He seemed a bit confused, so she took pity and withdrew her hand. 

 

“I don’t believe that you’re useless,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just been touching him suggestively. It appeared he needed something other than a physical reassurance of his worth, and she found that refreshing. “You say that you’ve tried to be a good friend, and you intend to wait until Harry is ready to confide in you. What’s so useless about that?”

 

He finished off his pint of mead and focused his attention at the mirror over the bar again. “It’s just that…sometimes, I don’t think I make a very helpful friend. When Harry’s lost in himself, I try everything in my power to pull him out. Quidditch, making fun of that git, Malfoy… anything I can to make him smile for a while. When Hermione hides by burying herself in school work and revising for exams, I bother her until I see a spark of something in her eyes that shows life. It’s just, those are such pointless things when it comes down to it.” 

 

Rosmerta leaned her elbow onto the bar and watched his profile as he shared these thoughts with her. Had he never spoken about this aloud to anyone before? She noticed the subtle relaxation of his shoulders, as if speaking had drained the burden somewhat. 

 

They both were quiet for a while; the only sounds echoing around them were the clanking of dishes washing themselves and Willy’s loud snoring as he lay sprawled against the bar. 

 

Red abruptly turned back towards her, an angry twist to his mouth and his eyes flashing. “Pointless! Why can’t I be helpful when it counts? Maybe when Harry is in danger and he needs his best mate at his side? Why not then?” He smacked a palm against the bar, startling Rosmerta and making Willy snort in his sleep. 

 

“What do you mean? Are you saying you refused to help him or something?” She was honestly curious about the answer. Cowardice was a jigsaw piece that didn’t quite seem to fit within the puzzle of this Weasley.

 

“Never.” He slid off the bar stool and stood proudly before her, towering over her seated form and only wavering slightly in response to the alcohol he’d consumed. “I would never refuse to help my friends if they were in serious danger. Something ridiculous, like knitting House-elf socks, yeah, but never when either one of them or my family was in trouble.”

 

He heaved a great sigh and unclenched his fists, letting his arms drop weakly at his side. “But how useful is all that when my spellwork is rubbish and I am a complete and utter idiot in battle? Fifth year, Sixth year, two weeks ago… some wizard I am, unable to use magic well enough to help when it’s really important.” 

 

His words made her heart ache. So perhaps he wasn’t spectacular at every spell. He’d known this and joined his friends anyhow, willing to protect them any way he could at any cost. She’d seen men waste their lives away in her pub because they had fled and abandoned their friends and family when things got rough. Their pain was their penance for disloyalty. How could the young man before her suffer the same emotion when he had obviously tried his hardest to help? 

 

She rose to her feet and curled a palm against the side of his face, tipping his head so she could look into his expressive eyes. “Listen to me, Red.”

 

“Ron,” he corrected in a soft voice.

 

She saw the hint of a smile on his lips and mirrored it with her own. “Listen to me, Ron. You might be feeling helpless, but you are trying, and that is what matters. Wanting to protect your friends is not useless. Being injured in a fight that many died in is not useless. Sitting in my pub, ending up like Willy over there, is completely pointless.”

 

“Yes but…” he began, but she didn’t want to hear his examples on why he was a failure. She continued to cup his cheek with one hand and brought the fingertips of her other up to his lips.

 

“Don’t. Don’t make excuses and explanations. After the first war, so many fine young men like yourself destroyed themselves by believing their own accusations of worthlessness.” She slid her hand from his lips to his other cheek, embracing his narrow face with her palms. 

 

“I know, but I…” he started again, and she just couldn’t listen. His words had scratched at a hidden corner of her mind, one that stored all the things she had wanted to say to the lost souls who would drown their sorrows with drink. 

 

“No excuses,” she whispered, and she pulled his face close to her own, standing on the very tips of her toes to press her lips against his. He made a tiny noise deep in his throat, but finally leaned into her, hesitantly bringing his hands to her waist to pull her closer. His lips were as soft as she had guessed, and she parted her own just the tiniest bit to nip lightly at his lower one when she pulled back, thoroughly enjoying his flushed, dazed appearance.

 

“My turn now?” A graveled voice interrupted their intimate moment. Rosmerta winked at Ron, who still hadn’t quite come back to earth. She turned and sauntered over to Willy, her sparkling turquoise high heels clicking against the The Three Broomsticks’ wooden floor.

 

“Alright love, here you go,” she said and pecked the elderly man on his forehead. He grumbled something about not being fair. She chuckled and guided him towards the door. “You need to go on back home to that bed of yours and stop drooling on my bar while you nap!” She ignored his final snort when he exited and turned to Ron. “He’ll be right back here tomorrow, more reliable than my Daily Prophet delivery.” 

 

Ron was watching her again. With his head cocked a bit to the side and his eyes narrowed in thought, he looked as though he was mentally battling his intoxication for clarity. He was ruffled and still slightly flushed, occasionally darting his tongue over his lips as if searching for her taste. She was going to have to send him on his way soon as well, before her thoughts skewed right into the gutter. It was already getting a bit difficult to keep her eyes off the bulge in his trousers, particularly when she knew it was her own fault. 

 

“Well then,” Rosmerta said while she headed back behind the bar and began clearing Willy’s dishes. I suppose you should be going on back to Hogwarts, yeah?”

 

Ron took a few steps towards her and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve fancied you a bit for nearly six years now,” he blurted, and then he looked vaguely scandalized that the alcohol had allowed it to slip out like that. 

 

The words warmed her inside, despite their rough delivery. They weren’t new, she had heard them in some semblance frequently throughout her life, but his abrupt confession was rather endearing. It was also quite tempting, though she wasn’t really sure he really wanted to play this game with a woman twice his age. 

 

“That’s very flattering, especially for a silly, old bird like me.” She started wiping the bar down manually, not sure what else to add, when the cloth seemed to catch on something. She raised her eyes from her work and was surprised to see that Ron was standing across the bar from her, and he had grabbed onto a corner of the washcloth to still her movements. Those blue eyes were burning into hers again.

 

“You’re not a ‘silly, old bird.’ You… you’re quite lovely. And I…I think you should kiss me again.” Though he hesitated and his ears were bright red, he had stated the last with such conviction that it gave her chills. 

 

She began slowly winding the washcloth around her wrist, literally reeling him in. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” she asked softly. He quirked an eyebrow and allowed the cloth to pull him so that his lanky, upper body began bending over the top of the bar.

 

“Are you sure I’m not useless?” 

 

She looped the cloth around her wrist once more, and their fingertips finally brushed. “It depends,” she teased, her voice taking on a seductive tone. “I can certainly think of a few uses for a young man.” She slid her hand out of the twisted dishcloth and used her fingernails to trace an outline around each of his fingers.

 

He surprised her when he turned his palm face up and tangled their fingers. He sucked in a deep breath, as if stealing himself to jump into cold water, and he leaned forwards. She barely had time to process the movement before their mouths met again in a more aggressive kiss than before, and she parted her lips as soon as his brushed against hers. This time, the kiss was a hot tangle of stroking tongues, so very sexy that he coaxed a faint moan from her.

 

Rosmerta reluctantly broke their contact, quite breathless from their kiss. It was obvious he’d done a bit of this before with someone, and the reminder made her step back from the bar that made a thick boundary between them. He most likely had a girl back at Hogwarts, a young woman who should be the one to provide physical comfort. Although she had teased this attractive, skinny redhead, she hadn’t really planned on more than a simple, appreciative peck on the lips. 

 

“Alright, Red,” she breathed as she stepped back form the bar, smoothing her skirt. “Certainly you’ve got better places to be than snogging someone over twice your age.”

 

Ron blinked, immobile for a moment, then he pulled himself up and hopped onto the bar, slid across the surface, and swung his long legs over to drop to her side. Rosmerta stepped back another half step, fascinated by his sudden acrobatics. 

 

“Wait, please,” he begged, his voice low and husky. He reached for her hand again and completely enveloped it in both of his larger palms. “Please, I need…something.”

 

Her body shivered in anticipation. She sucked in a deep breath, examining his pleading eyes and the stubborn set of his jaw. She understood the desperate desire to feel needed, to feel alive through touch and taste. It might not be the best idea, but if she could ease his pain by letting him drown in sensation rather than drink, perhaps there would be one less tortured soul wandering Hogsmeade. 

 

“I know, love, I know what you need,” Rosmerta crooned. She pulled him close to her body, sighing when he wrapped his arms around the curves of her hips. She kissed him again, a slow lingering display of her acceptance and arousal. If this is what would make Red feel better, she thought, than there was no point in fighting her lust for this young man. 

 

“Oh! That feels good!” he rasped with a boyish enthusiasm when she trailed her mouth along the cord of his neck. She slipped her fingers into his red hair while nipping her way down to the hollow of his throat, smiling against his freckled skin. His excited words had her wondering if only kissing was the whole of his experience with a woman.

 

With her other hand, she traced spirals across the flesh under his shirt, slowly circling his navel and running over a slight bulge of abdominal muscle. He was very responsive, gasping and shivering as only an 18 year old could to a slight touch. That reaction to such an innocent caress was what kept drawing her over and over to men half her age. A more experienced man might make her shatter in pleasure with a skilled mouth or just by thrusting at the right angle, but didn’t often respond to a simple graze of fingertips. Ron was moaning from the lightest of caresses though, and that’s what she found so achingly erotic.

 

She noticed his hands were fluttering about her back, like he wasn’t sure what they should be doing. Rosmerta’s suspicions about Ron not knowing the intimate touch of a woman were probably correct then. She moved straight for the dip behind his earlobe while skimming her fingers along the exposed skin near the boundary of his trousers. “I can teach you,” she whispered into his ear, knowing that her warm breath would send a shiver down his spine. 

 

“Please…show me,” he mumbled against her neck, most likely embarrassed to admit his inexperience. He gasped when she unfastened his trousers and dipped her hand under the waistband. She couldn’t resist a chuckle when she found no undergarment. Definitely the products of a wizarding family, she thought as she brushed her hand over wiry curls. The thickness of his erection throbbed hot against her palm as she finally slid her fingers around the shaft. When she gave his cock an experimental stroke, he groaned “Madam Rosmerta,” into her ear, shooting a twist of lust to her center that dampened her knickers.

 

Rosmerta was just deciding if he had the stamina for a little playtime when he leaned back a bit and boldly caressed the exposed skin of her breasts that peaked from the top of her form fitting shirt. He traced his finger along her ample cleavage and met her curious glance with a roguish grin. “Do I get to touch too?”

 

She laughed aloud at his mischievousness and released his cock. Obviously, she wasn’t dealing with a shy, passive student who’d come with a few quick strokes of her hand. “I knew you redheads were a naughtier sort!” She pulled off her shirt slowly to tease him and unfastened her bra, not wanting him to have to fumble with the clasp. Leaning back against the bar, she smoothed her fingertips over an exposed nipple and glanced up at him through lidded eyes, proud of her full figure and large breasts.

 

Ron gaped, trembling for a moment before he pounced on her hungrily. It was like she had thrown a switch that channeled all his energy into lust, dissolving all traces of his pain and self-doubt. He fit his body against her own and bent to run his tongue over her breast, able to cup the entire roundness of it in his hand. “You…beautiful… oh, Fuck!” he growled out when she nudged his head to the other breast. She caught her tongue between her teeth and moaned loudly when he bit lightly at the nipple.

 

His other hand was softly rubbing behind her upper leg, as if he were afraid to move it closer to the apex of her thighs. Her knickers were soaked by now and she felt a hollow, throbbing need to be touched. Rosmerta took hold of his tentative hand and guided it beneath her skirt, encouraging him to pull off her knickers and showing him where to slip his fingers.

 

“Yes, like that,” she hissed as she taught him how to use his long fingers to bring a woman pleasure. He caught on quickly and experimented with different touches against her clit, adding another finger into her softness and working at new angles. His face was buried her neck, their panted breaths mingling until finally she was writhing against the bar, nearing her peak.

 

“Is this okay?” he asked after wrapping his other arm around her back to support her. She released her hold on his body and flung both arms out to grasp at the edge of the bar.

 

“Now Red…right there…good…faster,” she whispered between pants, cracking her eyelids a sliver to watch his flushed, determined face before she couldn’t stand it any longer. “There! Now…oh Merlin…oh…that’s it…gods, don’t stop yet!” She whipped her head back against the bar, and spied her reflection in the mirror positioned over it. The wanton expression on her own face nearly pushed her over the edge. When she shifted, the new angle revealed flashes of her quivering body and a tall, sexy redhead with a jaw clenched in concentration and his hand up her skirt. She had to tear her eyes away from the incredible image as everything twisted in a swirl of sensation until her entire body quivered in a taught string of pleasure. 

 

It took her a few minutes to catch her breath. She finally opened her eyes again, focusing on the blue ones that gazed intently into her own.

 

“Bloody hell, that was hot!” He pushed his erection at her hip, punctuating how aroused he had become by watching her come. His hands easily rested at her hips; after touching her so intimately it was an understandable change from his earlier hesitation. “That was just…unbelievably hot.”

 

“And that my dear Red,” she whispered between deep breaths, “that is why you should always take care of the woman first!” As she spoke, she completely unfastened his trousers, dropping them to his ankles before turning her attention to his tie. She loosened the sloppy knot before slipping open his buttons one at a time, fascinated by the goosbumps she caused when she let her fingers brush at his sternum . 

 

Rosmerta pushed his shirt away and revealed the creamy skin of his shoulders and chest, yet untouched by the signs of age. She flattened her palm against the sprinkling of freckles, only realizing at the last moment that his eyes had taken on a wicked gleam. 

 

“What are you up to?”

 

Ron wiggled his eyebrows at her in an exaggerated fashion. “This!” he said as he lifted her off the ground and set her bum onto the bar. It startled her for a moment, and then she retaliated by wrapping her legs around his chest to draw him nearer, hooking her sparkly high heels at the small of his back. He grinned, winking at her in the same cheeky manner she had done earlier, and then nuzzled his long nose between her breasts. “That’s so it’s easier for me to do this.” He nipped at her oversensitive nipples, drawing a gasp from her lips. “And that was for calling me Red,” he added, his voice muffled when he buried his nose again.

 

She slid her hands through the hair that cured at the nape of his neck and peered in wonder at the change in the young man before her. Here, then, must be the real Ron Weasley – a brash, witty, brave Gryffindor, who seemed so much more alive than the self-doubting shadow that had graced her bar, sipping pint after pint of mulled mead earlier.

 

He was back to trailing a hot path with his tongue across her collarbone and was kissing her neck franticly. His fingers twisted in her hair, and he was mumbling incoherent pleads into her flesh. When she ghosted her fingers down the side of his ribcage, he bucked against her, searching. If she was feeling an ache, he must be desperate for release. She allowed her legs to swing free and glanced about her pub, pausing to consider the logistics of what she wanted to do.

 

“Alright love,” she whispered, drawing his gaze towards where her hand rested on the bar surface. “Can you climb up here?”

 

He nodded and kicked off his shoes before hopping on the bar. Even on his knees, he towered over where she sat on the edge. He reached for her shoulder when she made to hop down and remove her skirt. “Leave it on,” he rasped, barely getting the words out through his heavy breathing. “And the shoes too.”

 

Rosmerta arched her eyebrows. “Kinky thing aren’t you?” She lay back against the bar and pulled his body against her own, catching his mouth in another deep kiss. Her body shivered as he trailed tiny kisses to her ear and licked at the shell. When she pressed one of her sparkly, turquoise high heels against his back, he whimpered and ground his erection against her entrance.

 

“Please! Oh Merlin, please...I want you! I need…” he gestured helplessly and arched against her again.

 

“Shhhh... alright, we’ll get this.” She grasped hold of his cock, loving the feel of its steely softness. “Just …,” she guided him, brushing the head across herself until she could no longer stand the stand the tease of his hot erection against her sensitive folds. He bucked against her again, groaning, and this time, she cupped her hand over the smooth skin of his arse and encouraged his thrusting. She was already so wet from his previous touches that with one hard push, he filled her completely.

 

“Oh Fuck! It’s so good! You’re so…it’s so…I didn’t know! Madam Rosmerta!” He pulled back and pushed again, instinct taking over, praising her body in disjointed phrases the entire time. He was over her and inside her, a fire sweeping across every nerve, each thrust doubling the pleasurable sensations until all she could do was clutch at his back so that his muscles rolled against her palms. This was the youthfulness her body craved -- a young man, innocent in the ways of pleasing a woman – the act of sharing this gift with him, teaching him this beautiful intimacy, aroused her more than anything ever could.

 

His gorgeous blue eyes were wide with lust as he gazed into her own intently, as if he still needed her guidance and had to reassure himself this was really happening. His thrusts were becoming more erratic, his words disappearing into moans that echoed against her chest, and she knew from the way his body trembled against hers that he would lose control soon. She hooked her legs higher and grabbed at the bar edge again with one hand, adjusting her positioning so that he would stroke against her clit each time he filled her. 

 

When he finally broke their heated eye contact by burying his face in the curve of her neck, she chanced a look in the mirror again. Gangly limbs were twined with her curvier body, and the sweat slicked skin of his back rippled with each thrust. She felt young and sexy, a wild woman with her hair flying everywhere and a redhead pounding her against the top of the bar.

 

The sight of that freckled arse flexing above her shattered her control instantly, and she came hard, screaming her satisfaction and digging her heels into his back again. Her peak triggered his own and he tensed, nearly howling his pleasure when she worked though her own glorious climax to milk his cock. Overwhelmed, she was able to watch his parted lips mouth silent words of endearment for only a moment before she succumbed to her exhaustion. 

 

Afterwards, they both lay tangled in an undignified sprawl, her sweaty back chilling against the bar surface. He was boneless against her, lips curled in a tired smile.

 

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Ron whispered as he traced senseless patterns across her collarbone and over her lips. 

 

Rosmerta brushed back damp stands of flaming red hair, entranced by the sparkle hidden in the blue of his irises. Unplanned and beautiful, she thought, kissing him softly before he pillowed his head against her chest. She was thankful to whatever fate had lead this young man to The Three Broomsticks, grateful that she was given this chance to ease his pain. 

 

Rosmerta sighed with a satisfied hope that she had cured this young man of feeling useless, never realizing that he had just done the same for her.

****

Thank you for reading!


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